


meet me somewhere in eternity

by golden_redhead



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Apologies, Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Art, M/M, Post-Canon, Spoilers, looks depressing but is actually rather hopeful for a post-game fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 03:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_redhead/pseuds/golden_redhead
Summary: He never thought much about what comes after death.Death is death, it’s simple. You die and that’s it, there’s nothing more to it. And it’s not like he ever had a chance to think about his own death too much, because why should he. He was young. Invincible. He was Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars, destined to succeed and reach the stars, and leave the imprint of his steps on the moon. He was designed for something greater, something far beyond death’s reach.Funny how things ended up being.





	meet me somewhere in eternity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tokis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokis/gifts).



> First of all, this fic would never exist without Tokilos (Tumblr, Twitter) and her beautiful Oumota fan art! http://tokilos.tumblr.com/post/177108914715/meet-me-somewhere-in-eternity  
> It was my inspiration to write this fic. It started as a simple writing practice because I was curious if I'd be able to capture the atmosphere of this art and then it evolved into an actual fic. Seriously, you should totally go and check out her art because it's amazing and you're not gonna regret it! Especially if you are Oumota trash just like me :D 
> 
> That's why the dedication is for you, Tokilos, thank you again for letting me publish it and for posting all this beautiful Oumota content that you make! :3 You're the best.
> 
>  
> 
> And as always special thanks for my beta @asteril!

When Monokuma’s laugh and the sight of the cockpit fades away he doesn’t have time to think, just giving in to the sensation of what he knows must be dying. In one second Momota closes his eyes and his lips form a gentle smile as his dream of reaching the stars comes true mere moments before he chokes on his own blood and lets out his last breath... and then the next thing he knows - he’s already here.

 

He’s disoriented at first.

 

He never thought much about what comes after death. Death is death, it’s simple. You die and that’s it, there’s nothing more to it. And it’s not like he ever had a chance to think about his own death too much, because why should he. He was young. Invincible. He was Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars, destined to succeed and reach the stars, and leave the imprint of his steps on the moon. He was designed for something greater, something far beyond death’s reach.

 

Funny how things ended up being.

 

One of the first things that he registers - truly registers, maybe because it’s such a shock after possibly days of constant pain - is that the pressure on his lungs is gone and it feels so impossibly amazing to breathe freely again, something he hasn’t felt in a long time. He feels light, lighter than he’s ever felt when he was still alive. It feels like some heavy burden has been lifted from his shoulders, a weight he wasn’t even fully aware of.

 

He raises his head, mouth open and immediately his eyes fill with disbelief as he can’t quite understand what he’s seeing, as if he can’t allow himself to believe it’s real, because if he does then it might all disappear in the blink of an eye.

 

But then he blinks. Once. Twice. And the sight before his eyes remains unchanged. He lets the feeling of tentative giddiness settle in his chest, spread through his body as a half-laugh half-gasp escaped his lips.

 

Before him, as far as the eye can see, spreads the wide expanse of a starry sky. The ground beneath his feet looks like a polished surface of a mirror as it reflects the dim reflection of the stars and their gentle glimmering. He stares into his own reflection, eyes open wide and bright with wonder. There are traces of surprise embed in the lines of his face as if he can’t quite believe his own eyes, as if he’s expecting it to be some kind of beautiful trick that will fade away if he dares to believe that it’s true.

 

It’s beautiful. It’s breathtaking. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.

 

And then he spots the figure in the distance, small and familiar, a little speck of human among the stars.

 

Before he even has a chance to think about it he’s already heading towards that person’s figure.

 

Momota’s coat is still draped around his shoulders, swallowing his small figure almost completely. He’s sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, silvery glow of the stars dancing in the long dark strands of his hair, a gentle halo. He’s still frail, all bony hands and pale cheeks, but it’s a different kind of frail than the one Momota witnessed back in the exisal hangar, a shivering mess of skin and bones as he struggled to keep standing. The memories are still so fresh and yet in this place they feel almost surreal, the striking contrast of this tranquil space of wherever-they-are compared to the hell they had escaped from.

 

When he finally reaches Ouma’s side he hesitates for a second and opens his mouth, hundreds of words stuck in his throat and yet none of them seemed good enough. He wordlessly sits next to the other boy. Ouma doesn’t seem to acknowledge his presence in any way, those familiar big lilac eyes reflecting the twinkling of the stars around them as they stare straight ahead, not even sparing a single glance in Momota’s direction. Some distant, quiet part of Momota’s subconscious whispers-- _pretty_.

 

It’s so calm here. Calmer than it ever was when he was alive and especially in his last moments. Everything was so loud back then, Harumaki’s distant sobs, the racket of the machinery that took him to space and back, Monokuma’s laugh somehow piercing through all of the other sounds.  

 

And then suddenly Ouma’s nose wrinkles with distaste and just like that the silence between them is broken.

 

“I never imagined that the afterlife would be so Momota-themed,” he says, a hint of biteless insult in his voice.

 

Momota lets out a breathy chuckle and rubs the back of his neck absentmindedly, a soft smile on his face as he takes it all in - the soft glow of the stars hung low in the sky, the endless expanse of the galaxy, wide open and inviting. All he has to do is reach out his hand and grasp the stars he’s been chasing his entire life between his fingers for his dream to come true.

 

He never thought that it could be that easy, even his endless positivity knew its limits.

 

“Yeah well, I’m not complaining. It’s kind of amazing.”

 

He really means it. There’s this bubbly happy feeling in his chest, something he hasn’t felt in a long long time, something that almost faded when he got thrown into the killing game filled to the brim with blood and death and everything gore.

 

“You’re awfully cheerful for a dead man, Momota-chan,” drawls Ouma hugging his knees closer to his chest.

 

“I suppose I am, yeah,” astronaut scratches the back of his neck again and the smile playing on his face turns a little sheepish. “So, uh, what is this place anyway?”

 

Ouma shrugs and sends an amused glance his way. It’s the first time he actually looked at him.

 

“Dunno, hell?” Ouma’s long pale finger taps against his lips in mock thoughtfulness. “Purgatory? A dream of some total freak? Geez, I don’t know, Momota-chan, it was like this when I got here,” his words are laced with a thin layer of sarcasm and Momota only huffs with annoyance and doesn’t ask any more questions, knowing that he won’t get any legitimate answers out of the other boy.

 

The silence stretches between them once again. It isn’t quite as comfortable as Momota wishes it to be, but it’s not exactly a surprise. But it wasn’t a bad kind of silence. Just one that they’re not quite used to, not yet.

 

He thinks back to the hangar and their last conversation. It feels like it was a lifetime ago, when in reality it couldn’t be more than a few hours ago. Or maybe not. Maybe it was ages ago. He doubts that time is even a concept where he is now and there’s a weird vague sense of relief that comes from this realization. He’s tired of time. He’s tired of never having enough of it, of the constant pressure in his chest, one that he would only acknowledge during sleepless nights in his room, in the faint glow of the plastic stars scattered across the ceiling of his dorm room - Monokuma’s idea of a joke. He barely remembers the times before the killing game. It feels like a vague memory, something surreal, and distant, and unfamiliar.

 

“We weren’t supposed to live, y’know,” it’s Ouma who breaks the silence again, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. It doesn’t betray any emotion. “You and me.”

 

Momota closes his eyes and hums. This is not something he wants to think about now.

 

“Whoever designed us knew that our days would be counted,” continues Ouma. He’s not looking at Momota and instead raises his hand and inspects the dirt and dried blood under his fingernails. “A shame, really.”

 

Momota nods absentmindedly, even though Ouma can’t see it, because that makes sense. He was sentenced to death from the very start of this sick game, the disease infecting his lungs made pretty damn sure of that. And now that he thinks about it it slowly becomes clearer and clearer that Ouma had a target on his back from the start. Bitterly he wonders if Ouma himself was the one to put it there in the first place.

 

With a pang of guilt in his chest he wonders if Ouma also feels more free in death than he ever felt when he was still alive.

 

He looks at the ex-supreme leader, his milky pale skin glowing in the presence of the stars, eyes bright and clear, almost crystalline with various shades of purple flickering and overlapping. He isn’t quite sure how to act around this Ouma, stripped of this sinister mask that he used to hide his face behind.

 

But there’s something he still needs to address, something that doesn’t quite let him let go of the past, not completely.

 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, voice small and laced with guilt that he can’t quite stop from seeping into his words.

 

Ouma laughs humorlessly, wrapping the starry coat tighter around his small form. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, his eyes staring at his reflection in the mirror-like floor, taking in all the lies carved deep into the contours of his face.

 

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for, Momota-chan,” he says quietly and it sounds more like an accusation rather than a question.

 

Momota’s brows furrow because of course he does, how could he not know. He opens his mouth to respond… and then closes it promptly. _Does he really?_

 

What _exactly_ is he apologizing for? I’m sorry I killed you doesn’t really apply in this situation, not when he was asked to do so by the very person he killed. I’m sorry I misjudged you. I’m sorry that we all did. I’m sorry that it had to be like this. There are countless I’m sorry’s resting just at the tip of his tongue and yet none of them good enough.

 

He purses his lips and remains silent.

 

“Thought so,” mumbles Ouma into his knees when the response never comes.

 

Momota looks down, looks straight into his own face looking solemnly back at him. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows it damn well, but there’s this sick sense of curiosity and the words slip out of his mouth before he can even think to stop them.

 

“...did it hurt?”

 

Ouma blinks at him for a long moment and then when he seems to realize that it is actually a question he bursts out laughing, a harsh and nasty sound.

 

“Is it seriously the question you want to ask, Momota-chan?” He asks, disbelief clear and loud in his voice.

 

It _is_ a stupid question, Momota is perfectly aware of that. One that he already knows the answer to. He couldn’t see Ouma’s pain, not from where he stood, shaking hand pressing down on the striking red button responsible for the descent of the press, but he had definitely _heard_ it. The cracking of the bones, the nasty sound of blood splashing all over the press and floor and even on Momota’s skin as it reaches the panel. He heard the pitiful broken sob just before the final descent of the press. And then there was the smell. The smell of organs and choking metallic smell of blood that made Momota gag. He can taste the bile forming in his throat at the memory. Unconsciously, his hands curl into fists and he presses his fingernails against the soft skin of the inside of his palm, pressing hard enough that they leave little crescent-like imprints.

 

Ouma hums, not looking at him. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”

 

Momota wants to say something, but his voice is stuck in his throat and the words taste like blood. For once he chooses to listen and lets the silence embrace them yet again.

 

He can’t say that he understands Ouma Kokichi and he doesn’t think that he ever will.

 

“So… what now?” Asks Momota as his eyes follow two falling stars, their long tails illuminating the sky with their gentle glow. He was told that falling stars would make all his dreams come true, but is there even a point in wishing upon a shooting star if he’s already dead.

 

Ouma groans loudly, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes.

 

“Gosh, even in death you are just so boooring!”

 

Momota frowns.

 

“You are free to do whatever you want, Momota-chan,” Ouma explains slowly, like he’s talking to a child, acting all condescending. “This is our new playground now, we’re gonna spend a long time here. Who knows, maybe even an entire eternity!”

 

“Yeah sure why not. Let’s go explore this place,” he says enthusiastically, staring at the wide firmament of the sky stretching above them, illuminated by the little flickering lights scattered across its surface.

 

Ouma scoffs and Momota almost smiles at the expression.

 

He extends his hand to him, eyes reflecting stars scattered across the sky and twinkling in the dim mirror-like of the floor.

 

“Come on, man. Don’t leave me hanging,” he shakes his hand for emphasis, his smile warm and encouraging.

 

The look on Ouma’s face doesn’t look convinced, one eyebrow raised in quiet disbelief, but it’s neither that scary demonic face from the game nor the wiped of emotions blank canvas that never fails to send a shudder down Momota’s spine.

 

Momota can work with that.

 

 

Ouma doesn’t take his hand. He stands up on his own, coat shielding his frail form the non-existent wind. Dark wispy strands frame his face and Momota thinks that maybe with time he won’t see this dying shaking boy from the hangar everytime he looks at him.

 

Momota’s eyes follow the trail of two stars falling from the sky as they disappear beyond the horizon.

 

He smiles when he feels Ouma’s fingers intertwine with his.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Woah, Lis posting two Oumota fics in less than 24h? It's more likely thank you think! Soulmates AU yesterday, Afterlife AU today, what's next? Well, let it be a surprise, at least for now ;) I can only say that I'm going to update With a Touch of Despair in the next few days!
> 
> Funny fact: I remember that during Saioumota Week one of the prompts was Afterlife. And I remember staring at this prompt and being like 'naaah, I would never write an Afterlife AU' :') Ah, sweet irony.
> 
> As always, you can always find me on Tumblr (@golden-redhead) if you want to ask me about my writing or just scream about Oumota and V3 :D Also, I need constant validation and just love to read about what you liked, what made you smile, what you would change, so comments and kudos are very welcome!


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